I boast, in one dear woman join'd,

All Grace of Form, all Power of Mind ;An Heart, by many a trial known,

All kind, all true- and ALL MY OWN!

TO THE SAME.

ON ANOTHER ANNIVERSARY OF THE SAME DAY.

WITH A WORK-BAG OF SILK AND PAPER.

SINCE Our connubial blifs begun,
How many years their course have run?
And, if more dear could be, more dear,
How Love has made you, year by year!

What wonder therefore, if my breast,
By one idea all poffeft,

Whene'er I think, whate'er I do,
Enjoys the flightest hint of You!

Ev'n in a Toy at random wrought,

Some features faithful Fancy caught;

Whence Love could trace, and Truth portray, The Wife and Woman of to-day.

In this fame fimple Bag, I fee

A type of female Industry :—

And where's the Labour, where's the Care, You 've fear'd to meet, or grudg'd to share?

A fcanty Lot the world fupplies!

-You make that scanty lot fuffice.

Hope for a little moment gleams!

-More liberal efforts prompt our schemes.
While fenfe improves a thousand ways,

What Patience bore, with equal praife:
And frugal Skill, correcting Tafte,
Seems only Ornament more chaste :
Or Toils exprefs, as each takes place,
How new exertions vary grace.

Two-fold Materials, aptly join'd,
To form this votive Bag combin'd:
A Silken Top invites our hands,

Whose Base mere humble Paper stands.

That Bafe, (too well experience knows,) -Your tender Frame's true femblance fhows; Which pain now rends, now weakness wears, And every ruder touch impairs :While, like the Silken Top, your Mind, Preferves, unconquer'd tho' refign'd, Gentle to footh, firm to endure, It's texture whole, it's luftre pure.

A Band, fcarce obvious to the fight,
Extends this Bag, or draws it tight;
Fit emblem of the fecret clue,

(As delicate, and as powerful too,)
With which our judgments you controul,
And move, or fix at will, the soul :-

While all a daughter's feelings fay,
'Tis mere indulgence to obey;

And fondness knows not how to boast

An husband's pride, or pleasure, most.
When in this Bag, your care has pent
Each future needful implement,

"Twill be the perfect counter-part,
Of that large treafury-your heart:
Where gradual exercise hath ftor'd

Whate'er makes merit more ador'd:
Where every grief your friends endure,
Expects it's comfort; or it's cure!

Still, MOLLY, let that Heart find room,
For all th' extremes of mortal doom;
To every forrow round apply

A cordial, or devote a figh;

But keep from all, fave rapture, free
A corner there for Love and Me.